I hugged him.
“I love you.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Did I do something?”
“Never.”
Carla stood several feet away.
“Gabriel, please.”
I kissed his head and let him go.
Hugo followed me to the door.
“Mom, don’t leave like this.”
“How would you prefer I leave?”
“I don’t want you thinking we don’t love you.”
“Then you should not treat me as though I embarrass you.”
“Carla went too far.”
“You listened to every word.”
He looked down.
“That matters more than what she said.”
“I didn’t know how to stop it.”
“You could have used the word no.”
I opened the door.
He caught it lightly.
“Where are you going to be Christmas Eve?”
“Not alone.”
“With who?”
“My family.”
Then I left.
Back at my apartment, I opened the fireproof box in my closet.
Inside were property statements, investment summaries, partnership agreements, trusts, scholarship correspondence, and the villa deed.
I spread them across the table—not to count my money, but to remember the size of my own life.
Carla had reduced me to dresses, coupons, portions, and inexpensive gifts.
Hugo had allowed it because he had stopped asking who I was.
I called my younger sister Olivia.
“Margarita?”
“Come to San Diego for Christmas Eve.”
She laughed.
“To your apartment?”
“My new house.”
Silence.
“Your what?”
“I bought a house.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“What kind of house?”
“Come and see.”
“Margarita, you sound strange.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are Hugo and Carla coming?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Carla decided I don’t have enough class to eat dinner with her parents.”
